The Great Escape
by moonswirl
Summary: Gleekathon, day seven hundred and three: Once the Trinity has what they came for, it's time to get out.


_Started my daily ficlets to make the hiatus pass, then decided to keep going with a 2nd cycle, and then a 3rd, 4th, etc through 33rd cycle. Now cycle 34!_

* * *

><p><strong>Hear that little bird twitter!<strong> _Been thinking about doing this for a couple days, then this morning decided to just go for it. If you go there, find 'gleekathon' and there I'll be. There's also a video explaining everything... Yep... ;) Check it out!_

* * *

><p><strong>"The Great Escape"<br>Quinn, Santana, Brittany, Santana/Brittany  
>Trinity #5 (following "Sneak") <strong>

Once they were on exit mode, everything happened methodically, the checklist imprinted into their minds and now in the process of being worked through. While Optic packed up her gear, Breaker and Sneak swept the areas they'd had to break into, confirming they had left nothing behind, no sign that they had taken anything away. Eventually they would realize there were things missing, eventually… maybe the next day, maybe the one after that… One time it had taken three days, and Breaker and Sneak had been left to hear all about it from Optic for a week or so… But then it was entirely possible, with the particular branch of their line of work…

They had no affiliation to anyone but one another. There were rules, and there limitations. There were two golden rules among them. The first was that they never did anything that would require them to carry guns or any sort of weapons. All that would bring them was unnecessary danger, to others and each other. And then there was the other rule, the one that dictated exactly who they were as a crew: they may have been thieves, but they had a purpose.

Before they had been the Trinity, it had just been one… Breaker. It had been chance which brought Optic and Sneak into the fold, but there had never been any question as to what they did and did not do. They weren't criminals… Well, if their work was defined as basically as possible then, yes, they were… They broke into vaults, museums… If they ever broke into someone's private home, they were not after a television, or money, or anything like that…

The Trinity dealt in settling scores… They dealt in restoration.

Sneak had been the one to brand them as having something of Robin Hood, but a girl… three girls… The other two had chuckled at first, but then it wasn't untrue… There was more to it, of course. What they sought out, when they were the ones doing the seeking instead of a job finding them in one way or another, were those items which, for one reason or another, had ended up where they shouldn't. Family heirlooms, that was their bread and butter, but they did go beyond it.

Things got lost, things got stolen, things got taken away, things got sold… They were not forgotten.

Weeks ago, they had come upon old Mrs. Bailey and her grandson. The widow was living a very comfortable life, all things considered. Her husband had been a businessman his whole life, a complete rags to riches kind of story. But it was not about the houses, the cars, everything that had come over the years. There were two things that mattered most of all. The first had been a painting. Mr. Bailey had hired the artist, an up and comer at the time, to capture the spirit of their house… not the one with the many rooms, the staff… The painting showed their first house, the one they'd moved into as newlyweds. This was where they their love had blossomed, had given them four sons, had seen his ideas come to life… With the years, their little artist had grown into a worldly name, and his works gained worth, but all of this had been after his death. The Bailey House painting had been believed lost for years until, after her husband's death, Mrs. Bailey discovered he'd been strong-armed into parting with it by a business rival. She learned the painting now sat gathering dust in the vault of a museum… and it wasn't alone. Just as the painting had been lost, so had a small statue, bought at an auction as the first pricier item Mr. Bailey could gift his wife. Like the painting, though it had worth, what it represented was not the new life they'd built, but the life they'd left behind.

Hearing the story, it hadn't taken long for them to decide this deserved their attention. Like all their clients, if they dealt with them directly – which was not always the case – Mrs. Bailey was made to understand that getting back what was rightfully hers did not mean she'd get to display this in any way. What was the point of getting those things back, if it would only lead to them being incriminated, along with getting the three women in trouble for it? The woman had agreed: all she wanted were the memories, and these ladies had means to make it happen. It wasn't Breaker, Optic, or Sneak that she knew, and it wasn't those girls from Ohio, either…

If their names were sacred when they were in the middle of a job, they were also sacred when it came to dealing with clients. Each new job came with a new set of identities, never leaving a trail with anyone who could put a name to their faces. Mrs. Bailey knew Breaker as Miss Engels, Optic as Miss Flores, and Sneak as Miss Parsons. And if the three of them wanted to see here again, they needed to make it out of the building.

Optic was the first to make it to the rendez-vous point. They couldn't exit together, not from the door they'd arrived through. Her path was easy, and once she was out, she had to wait. Unless they gave any other indication, everyone would remain in radio silent mode until they were in the clear. "I'm out," she spoke, keeping a calm walk as she went on by. She couldn't stand this part, especially since she knew who would come next, and who would be last. Breaker made sure the painting wouldn't shift in any way as she went along. By her plans, nothing was meant to stop her or the others, but they knew very well that this could change. But then…

"Out," she moved the case, so not to look too obvious. Within another minute she would reach Optic, and then they'd wait, again. They wouldn't speak, knowing they could be heard, but Breaker at least gave her partner a look – don't worry, she'll be out soon. They had hesitated, letting her make the final exit, when neither of the others would be near in case her injury stopped her or put her in harm's way, but she made them know she could do this. And just when Optic was ready to put her equipment down and run back to the museum.

"On my way," came Sneak's voice, and she could breathe again. Two minutes later, there she came, and she fell in step with the others, as they disappeared into the night. As they reached the car, Optic looked to the others, pausing.

"Next time, can we go somewhere warmer?"

THE END

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This is a one-shot ficlet, which means that signing up for story alert will not bring you any alerts.  
><strong>**In the event of a sequel, the story will be separate from this one. And as chapter stories go, they are  
><strong>******always clearly indicated as such [ex: "Days 204-210" in the summary] Thank you!******


End file.
